An Informal Introduction
by Indigo Code
Summary: Chell finds herself sitting in an office with the most slap-happy maniacs in history. With the "Arrogant Hero", the "Bushy-Eyebrowed Man", the "Frilly One", the "Asian Man", and the "Unsettling Innocent-Faced Russian" nothing can go wrong! Right? Yeah... You don't expect "nothing" from the Allies. No longer a One-Shot... I think.
1. Is She Even Recognized?

Chell sat awkwardly in the stuffy conference room as the group of five men disputed to each other- undoubtedly about her. They were odd, strangely dressed (Even though she never knew about current fashion herself- She just thought their overly frilly coats and puffy pants were just abnormal, at the least) and acted in such an absurd behavior, that she concluded to herself that they were just downright insane. And she only met them for about ten minutes, or so.

"Is she even recognized?" A person in the group asked loudly to his other associates. "How should I know?! YOU found her!" Another one yelled rudely. Chell shifted in her rough and rigid seat with embarrassment. "She can't possibly be one of us! I mean- look at her clothes!" She glanced down at her tattered, mud-covered jumpsuit pants. She never really cared about what she wore- being trapped in an abandoned, underground testing facility, and all. So those words didn't hurt her as much as they were supposed to.

"And those boots! What the heck are those braces on them for?!" The disorderly, messy-haired member guzzled on a plate of "Meat-Sandwiches", as Chell called them, like a wild beast.

"She's not deaf, you _git_! She _can_ hear you!" A man with gigantic, bushy eyebrows and a noticeably British accent scolded him. He reminded Chell of a familiar, British accented, and bumbling idiot that she knew a while ago- Also known as "Wheatley". But the awful memories that lingered in her brain made her tremendously queasy. So she pushed the troubling recollections out of her thoughts to keep her from feeling nauseous.

"We don't know that!" The overeating affiliate replied out loud. "Hey, stranger-lady! Are you deaf?!" Chell huffed, annoyance clearly surfacing on her face. She didn't like him that much. He was extremely vain, always calling himself a hero. He was also earsplitting, impolite, hysterical, and lacked benevolence for his other friends. At least the bumbling idiot had an ounce of compassion in his personality, even though he never stopped rambling on. That was before he … It's not worth pondering about it, actually…

"Stop that!" The bushy-eyebrowed man shouted.

"Stop what?" The arrogant hero asked in an innocent voice.

"Being a _bloody arse_!"

"Well, _sorry_! It's not my fault my total _awesomeness_ is too intimidating for you!" The arrogant hero sneered as he munched on.

"That's _it_!" The bushy-eyebrowed man then grabbed the plate of sandwiches and slid it furiously across the long, wooden table. Chell watched with interest as the two engaged in a full-on slap-fight war to the death. One other person was enjoying the unanticipated entertainment, too. He had short, platinum-blondish hair, large, bluish-purplish eyes, and a child-like smile hiding beneath a thick scarf around his neck. Although he appeared to be just a naive, sweet-faced gentleman, something about him gave Chell a knot in her stomach. The other man next to him had darker-blond hair, lying limp over the sides of his face. He was also the most formal of the bunch, frilliness galore. He glared at her with a flirty- yet, _eerie_ expression, making Chell scoot her seat farther away from him for her own safety.

"ENOUGH!" An Asian man with a long, brunette pony-tail resting on his shoulder broke-up the slap-happy quarrel, pushing both of them as far away from each other as they can be. "Acting like spoiled children won't help anyone! Now, sit down and shut up!" He ordered, articulating his sounds in a quick way. The two slumped back into their chairs with a pout.

The Asian man looked down at Chell, sophisticated and poised. "Would you mind telling us your name?" He questioned her with a gentle tone. Chell stared at him with a blank expression. She'd never spoken a single word in her life! Nevertheless, told anyone her name. Silence took over the group; they were still waiting for her answer. "Does she not speak our language?" He whispered faintly to himself. The frilly one, who was gawking at Chell earlier, grabbed a piece of paper and an antique pen from his side of the table and handed it to her. Chell held the delicate pen between her fingers and began to write characters on the paper. When she finished, she gave the paper to the Asian man.

His face tightened as he tried to read the shaky letters. "I… I can't read this…" He gave up with a big sigh. "Lemme' see!" The arrogant hero snatched up the paper suddenly. He adjusted the small glasses on his face before reading. It took him two, short seconds before giving an answer.

"Her name is 'Chell'."

The Asian man's eyes widened with shock. "You can understand her writing?!"

"_Pffft!_ It's easy! Well, it is- if you're a hero- like _me_!" He answered haughtily. "Ask her where she's from." The Asian man asked. "Are there any restaurants there?" The flirtatious, ornamented member interrupted in a French accent. "Is there snow there?" The unsettling, innocent-faced one added with a Russian pronunciation.

Chell took back the paper and wrote again. Before the arrogant hero was able to receive the paper and deliver her response, the bushy-eyebrowed man swiftly grasped it out of his hands. "HEY!" The arrogant hero shrieked. "Don't be selfish, _America_. It's PLAIN ENGLISH, for crying out loud! It's not like you're an almighty wizard! I can read it, too!"

_America?_ That's the most bizarre name that Chell had even heard of. It's even weirder than _her_ name… Even _Wheatley's_ name is less peculiar than his! _Isn't that the name of a country?_ She thought skeptically.

"Way to crush my spirit, _England_." America whined in a dull and sarcastic voice.

_England?!_ _What's with these names?! _It seemed as if a pattern was showing. _America… England… I'll bet there's someone named "Canada" or "Australia" somewhere here, around this place…_

"Oh, _please_! You have more _narcissism_ than _spirit_ in that fat head of yours!" England taunted with a mocking smirk.

"Would you just read the paper already?!" The French member shouted impatiently, making the two jump out of fright from his sudden outburst. "What was the question again?" England asked. "Where she was from," The Asian man answered back. "Alright, then," England cleared his throat and narrated the words on the wrinkled paper.

"'It would be best if you didn't know'…" He re-studied the paper carefully, even looking on the backside for any extra sentences he might have forgotten about. Everyone directed their attention on Chell. America then cracked a huge grin and burst out a gasping laugh- like a hyena with a smoking problem. "She's not gonna' tell you! She doesn't want to, because you're such a smart as-"

"I'm sure she doesn't mean that… You don't really mean that, do you?" England glimpsed at her worriedly, hoping for an "Of course I don't mean that, England!" in reply. Chell just stated a simple and inaudible "Negative" by slightly dipping her head downward.

"And you haven't even seen his cooking, yet!" America muttered to her in a humorous way.

England shut his eyes, clenched his teeth, and held his breath, trying his best not to lash out violently on his joking rival.

"You can tell us where you're from." The Asian man reassured. "Yeah! Nothing leaves this room, anyway!" America stated, rather disruptively. The rest eventually joined in, encouraging her to tell her secret to them- Except for England, who was still trying to keep his ferocity to a minimum.

As they kept urging her to spill her secret, Chell got awfully distressed, sweat appearing on her forehead and her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She promised to herself in quietness that she was never, ever telling anyone about the torture she had to live through. And she wanted to keep it that way for a long time.

"We won't judge,"

But they didn't stop. All of the pressure that she had built up inside of her was ready to explode. She wasn't used to hearing so many voices- all concentrating on her- growing louder with every verse. Ultimately, Chell did something that she never actually did before-

Give up.

She clutched the pen and paper with anger. Nearly shattering the pen in half, she scribbled out two words in an enraged manner and hurled the paper at the persistent group. Immediately after she let go, she regretted her decision and reached out for it. But it was too late. The crumpled ball of paper hit America directly between his eyes.

He smoothed out the paper and recited the hectic words to his fellow companions.

"_'Aperture Science_'?"

Chell hid her face in her hands in shame as they discussed her exposed secret with each other. _Why did I do that?! What was I thinking?!_

"Ap-er-ture…. Ahhh… per… ture. Aperture, is that it?" They sounded out the new word, enunciating the long vowel sounds slowly until they spelt out the whole thing.

"Is that in the middle of the ocean? Because I've never heard of it before." England, who held back his vicious impulses and was now level-headed, once again, joined the conversation over the mysterious Aperture Science. As they continued throwing estimates on what and where it could be, Chell derided to herself quietly on her own side of the polished table. _I didn't mean to do that! Why can't I take it back?! I never meant to- Ahhgg!_

"You know, it sounds kinda' cool if you leave the _'Science'_ part out," America said with approval in his tone.

Chell struck her fist against the lustrous wood when he said that one sentence, turning everyone's head toward the booming noise.

"_No._"

The entire crowd of absent-minded men stared at her in astonishment when they heard her low, dismal voice speak for the first time.

"I- Is it really that bad? I mean, no place can be that-"

_"It's a nightmare buried in concrete and scrap metal."_

All their faces paled to a ghostly white, with an exception for the naïve man, possessing his disturbingly joyful appearance. Chell's slow, breathless, melancholy voice had chilled them to the bone.

"… Do they have Vodka there?" The smiling Russian asked in a merry, placid way.

After a large period of unnerving noiselessness, the Asian man spoke up. "You shouldn't fear about it anymore. If that place upsets you so much, then we won't speak of it. Right, _America_?" He glanced at his big-headed buddy.

"What happens in the conference room _stays_ in the conference room." America sighed, peeved with the previous question.

The Asian man was deep in thought, as if he'd forgotten something. "Oh! I'm China, by the way." He introduced himself.

"And this is France." He presented the frilly Frenchmen by gesturing to him. France winked at her, making Chell cringe weakly with uneasiness. "And Russia," The contented member waved and greeted her with a "Da".

"You already know Britain and America." England held his hand up and stated: "My apologies for my informal introduction." Chell knew he was trying to act somewhat mannerly since she was technically considered as a guest. But his imprecise attempts to censor his snide remarks didn't fool her.

China elbowed America, who was occupied with his little game of "Thumb-War" with himself, making him flinch and jump straight up into the air. China gave him a strong gesture towards Chell, giving America a spark of excitement in his eyes. He cleared his throat, shook her hand, and stridently announced to her:

"We're the Allied Forces!"

_Something tells me that I'm going to see these people more often, am I? _Chell thought with a slight hint of satisfaction.


	2. The Apparition

"_Would someone explain this 'country' concept to me_?" The quiet, yet, distinctive voice arose from the "stranger-lady" in calmer, kindlier manner. Unease crossed each of the not-so-gentle-mans' faces. They've spent all their lives never questioning their nation prominence, so their words caught up short once again.

"Countries," China resurrected the discussion as he did before, "Each country- we represent. We are epitomes. And we take care of our nation-state- like a leader." Between each choppy phrase, the pauses grew longer, and the channel of communication shortened.

"That's all we know."

China's reluctant explanation only confused Chell even more, to the point where wrapping her mind around the idea became impossible.

"_So, they're your actual names, then_?" Chell spoke an easier question, which noticeably relieved them.

"We have multiple names, actually." England contributed to the dwindling conversation, "Variations of our countries' titles, and a given name, like yours. A few call me by the name of 'Arthur'."

"'Yao'," China coolly addressed his name. The others then followed him.

"'Ivan'," Russia added.

"'The _Hero_'-" America proudly announced before being slapped upside the head from England (or Arthur, if you want). "Okay, it's 'Alfred'." He added in a grumble, rubbing the back of his head.

France began to amble over to Chell's side of the table with a suave approach, holding her hand in his to achieve the sense of romance between them. "And I am 'Francis'. But such a _charmante fleur_ like you can call me-" To much of Chell's delight, England chucked a scone which he mysteriously obtained from thin air, striking France right in the face. With a silent "thank you so much!" to the Brit, she inched to a safe location around the table.

France hid the black and blue bruise on his forehead behind his hand, scowling at England with contempt for spoiling the moment (which would've ended violently for France if no one intervened).

"You were troubling her." England clarified, waving his hand around showily.

"_Romancing avec une belle dame n'est pas un crime, sourcils!_" France spat out in his native dialect: a fairly polite- or a not-so-polite way of saying, "I can say whatever I want".

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" America cheered over France's shoulder.

"A good war sounds like fun." Russia exposed a jolly smile, eager to see another battle. The dulled expression in China's eyes suddenly lit up, signifying a hatched idea. As England prepared to throw a foul insult at the fuming France, China leaned over from his seat and whispered something into his ear.

"You're right." England muttered. They continued speaking in whispers to each other, America, France, and Russia joining in on it shortly after.

Chell, yet again, tried to grasp a hold on situation, attempting to decrypt their hushed arguments, and failing to do so. But a strange feeling washed over her. The uncanny sensation of someone watching her behind her back. Since she didn't have the countries' attention at the moment, she took a wary glance over her chair.

A silent gentleman stood pleasurably against the wall, returning Chell's stare. He maintained similar looks to America, aside from the looped curl from the top of his head, and a polar bear cub in his arms. What shocked Chell was his transparency; she could see right through him. She had her beliefs of ghostly presences, but she never expected to discover one in person.

_I must be going insane already._ She concluded to herself, but her gaze didn't weaken.

The apparition seemed to be an introverted one, struggling to muster the courage to take action. He gave an anxious wave and mumbled,

"_Hello._"

She thought over on why none of the others even acknowledged his existence, which played a role to her "insanity" theory. But he appeared too lifelike compared to a hallucination. Chell was nothing if not owing the smallest shred of civility, even to imaginary entities. So to return the shy welcome, she curled her lips into a friendly smile and mouthed a "hello" back to him.

The apparition squeaked with happiness, hugging the unruffled bear cub closer to him. Bizarrely, his skin started to retain opacity, along with the rosiness in his cheeks. He stuttered something to himself along the lines of, "_S- Someone notices me!"_, softening Chell a bit.

"… She just _got_ here! She can't take a job in one day, let alone, buy a house! We need to… I- I know, I know… America, that's not going to help! _Alright…_"

The Allies turned to Chell again, all calm and in agreement among themselves.

"Since you're… new. We're trying to figure out how you're going to… _adjust here_. You don't have any currency, do you?"

Chell shook her head and slapped her hands on her pants-pockets.

"_Well_…"

In the midst of the stillness, America's voice suddenly boomed with enthusiasm, startling every person within ear-shot into panic, even the bashful apparition buried his face in the plush, snowy fur of the polar bear cub to block out the noise.

"_DUDE_! SHE SHOULD TOTALLY STAY AT _MY_ HOUSE!"

"Have you gone mad?! One, keep your voice down- My ears are bleeding. And two, only a complete _manic _could bear living with _you_!"

"Oh, like you're any better. Look how I turned-"

"DON'T YOU DARE USE THAT AGAINST ME! YOU BLOODY-"

"I think it would be best if she'd stay with _me_." China shoved England away with an offhand demeanor, "I _am_ the eldest, after all."

"_Enfantins imbéciles_! None of you know how to treat a _demoiselle précieuse_, like _moi_." France took a seat, laughing snobbishly.

England reached for the legs of France's chair and flipped it over, sending France tumbling onto his face, thus creating a World War III in some way.

"You become one with Mother Russia, da?" Russia mysteriously popped up next to Chell via black magic or something and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Why can't you people stay in same room without killing each other?" China droned, fed up with the whole situation.

"Dude, China, you start about a fourth of the fighting."

"DON'T MAKE ME USE THE WOK!" China pulled out a metal wok from nowhere and held it above his head.

Slowly sinking into the background, Chell stood by the bashful apparition to watch as the Allies played a fierce game of "every-man-for-himself".

The apparition appeared apprehensive that someone stood so close by him, making soft whimpering noises into the fur of the bear cub while stressing to sustain eye-contact with Chell.

"_What's your name?_" She asked him in a voice slightly above a whisper.

Stricken with bewilderment, the apparition stared at Chell with those big, blue doe-eyes of his, as if the notion of someone engaging in dialogue with him was all Greek to him. His focus shifted from her, then to his shoes, then to his polar bear, then back to her, fearing that all except one answer would be all the wrong answers.

"_Matt. M- Matthew_,"

Immediately, he winced, getting ready for the worst, only to see a hand held out to him, followed by a kindhearted beam across her face. Matthew sensitively accepted the handshake with a light grip and an easy grin, refuting Chell's "insanity" theory.

Back to the Allies, England had France under his boot while America hastily dodged China's wok attacks as Russia sat typically merry on the edge of the table, clapping his hands to a slow tempo. Chell, composed, strolled over to the quarreling buddies and stomped her foot against the floor, hushing the entire feud.

"_May I please get to choose_?"

China lowered the wok and England lifted his foot off his adversary. America let go of China's robe to help France off the floor. And Russia continued to be Russia.

"… Yes… Yes you may…" England responded, dusting his vest and straightening his tie.

"We didn't think of that, actually. Sure- um- _But just remember who the hero is!_" America sang, pointing at himself jokingly.

_This is a challenge…_ Chell thought with a sigh. She crossed her arms and bit her lip.

_Well, France is out of the question._

_ Russia… maybe not._

_ China seems stable enough. _

_Well…_

"_Matthew,_"

Confusion escaped into the atmosphere in collective "whos".

"… Say again? We didn't quite catch the name."

"_Matthew_," She repeated her answer calmly to them, but the group was still stumped.

"_Really_?" Matt timidly caught up to her in disbelief, "_You chose _me_?_"

The Allies staggered back when they caught a glimpse of the former "ghost of the conference room" for the first time.

"So you are…" America trailed off, trying to recall Matthew's country. The America look-alike shrugged off the arrogant hero's lack of memory and softly spoke a little motto of his,

"_I'm Canada_."

"Oh, that's right. _Canada_," England snapped his fingers at the sound of his name, "I'm sorry we're so forgetful. We've never really seen you before at the meetings, so it's a bit difficult to remember you."

"_I've always been at the meetings…_" Matthew stated, his voice shifting into a slightly downcast tone. But his affable nature returned again soon enough.

"_Does this mean we're friends_?" He looked to Chell, who reflected his smile, as if he just peered into a mirror.

"_We're friends_."

That little statement gave him butterflies in his stomach, letting him slip a giddy laugh. Matthew wasn't a man of many friends, so this sent him through the roof.

"_Th- Thank you_! _You don't know how happy this makes me_!"

* * *

Around a quarter-to-six, the countries decided it was best to leave to their homes, each expressing their goodbyes in their own little way. England politely excused himself from the room. America shouted some sort of movie reference before he tripped over the rubber door-stopper. And Russia soundlessly slipped through an exit without a moment's notice.

As China headed for the door, he paused, spun on his heels, and scurried back to squeeze both Matt and Chell into a tight hug, flustering them a little.

"Ah! You two just look so_ cute_ together! I can't help it!" He squealed, and then let them go. Claiming to be one of the eldest, that was a pretty hilarious moment watching China act like a ten-year-old girl. As he left the scene entirely, France graciously wandered over, facing Matthew eye-to-eye with him.

"_Bonne chance pour vous et votre dame, Matthieu_."

"_You too,_" Matthew replied considerately, grasping knowledge every word in that sentence. With an "_au revoir_" and his signature wink, the last of the Allies was out the door.


End file.
